


Hairpin

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x19 coda, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted





	Hairpin

“You met Naomi?”

Sam asks him when they’re trapped in the car together, and he _always_ does this; backs Dean into a place where he can’t just turn and walk away, short of throwing himself out of the car door and rolling onto the roadside. He sighs deeply. “Yeah.”

“She say anything about-“

“Not really.” Dean cuts him off, eyes on the road, hands tense. Sam shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“C’mon, man, I can tell that he did _something_ to you – or said something, or whatever.” He pauses, heavy, and pulls the hair back from his face. “What happened down there?”

Dean is silent for a time. He keeps on driving through the dark, headlights hardly enough on a road like this, even on full beam (too many twists and turns, too many sharp corners), and Sam, beside him, just _looks at him,_ like he’s trying to read the answer to his question off his face. Eventually, Dean can bite his lip no longer; eventually, he doesn’t even _want to._ “It wasn’t what _he_ said, okay?”

Sam just looks at him further, waiting for him to speak. Dean sighs.

“I told him –“ He can’t say it, not now, not to his _brother. I need you,_ like a needle against the base of his spine, the jagged edge rasping against him for fucking _years,_ now. _I need you,_ buzzing around in his head, rising unbidden when the angel looked his way. “I told him something I didn’t mean to tell him. And then he left.”

Sam continues to look at him, processing, and Dean knows what assumptions he’s making – Sam jumps to the L-word like an athlete leaping hurdles, never thinking that the hurdle might be an even huger, more damaging admission than _love._ “What’d you tell him?”

Dean’s jaw tightens. He stays silent.

“So you’re sad he left? After you told him – what you told him?”

Dean laughs, a bark, bitter and humourless. “No, I’m not _sad.”_ He laughs again. “You know what I am, Sammy? I’m _pissed.”_  He can feel Sam beginning to speak, and juts in before he can; “I’m _angry._ I’m angry because I can’t even keep _one_ fucking friend in this world without having to lose him over and over.” He thinks of Benny, and his mouth twists, but the wound is still too fresh. “You think it’s a test? That’s what Christians say, right? It’s a _trial?”_ the words sting, and Sam looks briefly away from him. “Prove my faith? Prove me worthy?” He chokes another laugh. “Well, turns out I’m _not_. Big surprise, I know. Not worthy. Not to God. Not even to him.”

“Dean-“

He looks at Sam – at how his face is twisted in worry and guilt – and remembers the pain Sam has been through just _today,_ seeing Bobby again, letting him go; the trial itself. He deflates. “It’s not you.” He says, softer. “I’m sorry.” He sighs, and shifts in his seat. “I just don’t know what I have to _do,_ you know? To –“ he breathes around the next part of the sentence, and it’s like pulling teeth. “To keep him safe.” _To keep you all safe._ He adds, in his head, and his heart gives a lurch, to think of all the people he has failed to protect.

“He _always_ comes back, Dean.” Sam says helplessly, evading the question of himself, of Benny, of Kevin. Dean nods shortly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he does.” _But for how long?_

 


End file.
